


Fall

by Neroro



Series: Journey [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Homophobic Language (mild), M/M, Oral Sex, Prison Sex, Serious Injuries, Violence, Violence Against Authority
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neroro/pseuds/Neroro
Summary: The Junkers go to prison after their bank heist in Dorado. Junkrat has fun, Roadhog worries.orThe fall of Roadhog.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of the fics Mask and Summer, so while this can probably be read on its own I recommend reading the other two first if you haven't.

So the Dorado bank heist didn't go exactly as planned, no biggie, prison life is actually more fun than Junkrat expected it to be. He gets three meals a day, a bed to sleep in, fellow criminals to socialize with and gain favors from. Him and Roadhog quickly made it clear that they shouldn't be messed with and that Junkrat _wasn't_ easy pickings just because he had a slim waist and only two full limbs, that he won't hesitate to punch the teeth out of anyone who tries anything. 

Still, he would like to get out sometime soon, and he lets Roadhog know as he is pressed to the wall by his bulk, goading him into running his hands up and down his sides, grab his ass and hoist him up. He wraps his arms around Roadhog's shoulders and leans in close to his ear. 

"Let's blow this joint."

Junkrat's eyes flick to the other prisoners in the showers, wetting his lips and grinning before mouthing at Roadhog's neck. 

"Or ya could just blow me, I could use a gobby."

Roadhog grunts and lifts him higher, allowing him to put his thighs on his shoulders. A leather snout rubs affectionately against his abdomen, they let him keep his mask for health reasons, a small comfort when being locked up in a cage but a comfort nonetheless. 

"Keep an eye out for the guards."

"Always, mate."

The sound of Roadhog unbuckling his mask never fails to make Junkrat tense in anticipation, the feeling of big lips and a warm tongue, rough skin. He wants to feel Roadhog's shapes with his fingers, map out the face of his partner but instead he simply lays his hand on the back of his neck and rolls his hips forward and up, pressing his half hard cock to Roadhog's soft mouth and Roadhog opens obediently and takes him in. There's no reason to spoil the fun of imagining what's under there just yet, no need to confuse his already addled brain any further. 

Junkrat sighs contentedly and leans back against the shower wall, letting Roadhog move his hips as he pleases, stroking and petting the warm skin on his neck and upper back. 

"They're watching, Hoggie."

Roadhog can hear the crooked smile on his face, feel him try to press his hips closer with a shuddering breath. The other prisoners are mumbling behind them, some leaving and some of them not so subtly trying to hide their arousal. Roadhog chuckles around the dick in his mouth, a deep, dark sound that makes Junkrat's toes curl and his thighs tense. He moans lewdly, with purpose, and Roadhog is sure he's licking his lips as he arches his back and shifts his hips, showing off, provoking his fellow inmates and laughing about it. Roadhog hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, grabbing his ass and taking him to the root and Junkrat stutters and moans, digging his nails into the back of Roadhog's neck. 

"T-That's a good piggy."

Roadhog grunts and spreads Junkrat's ass cheeks, pressing a blunt finger to his hole and Junkrat's sounds rise in pitch, his thighs tensing and he seemingly forgets about putting on a show, panting and whining as Roadhog bobs his head, fast and deep, playing with his rim and keeping him right on the edge until he has to slow down and take a moment to breathe. He sucks and licks at the swollen tip as Junkrat writhes against him, placing his hand on Roadhog's cheek and Roadhog groans low in warning at the sudden breach of their unspoken rule. 

"Enjoying the show, ya filthy cunts!?" 

Junkrat's voice almost cracks as his hips twitch involuntarily, Roadhog's breath hot on his cock even as his lips aren't touching him. Wet footsteps on old tile, someone is making their way over and Junkrat giggles and curls a little tighter around Roadhog's head. He's protecting his face, he realizes, covering him with his thighs and hand so nobody will see and Mako's stomach flutters with affection. 

Roadhog hums low in his throat and squares his shoulders, shows that he won't hesitate to act. Junkrat starts talking to the inmate in broken Spanish, sucks in a shuddery breath when he feels Roadhog's warm, broad tongue on his cock. He cackles loudly as the man talks back to him angrily. 

"Scar on the side of his head, ugly wanker this one. Tats all o-over-" he breaks off in a moan and leans back against the wall again, thighs quivering beside Roadhog's head. "Remember him for me, Hoggie."

Roadhog lets him know he's heard, though his description fits at least half of the other prisoners so it isn't really much use. There's starting to be a lot of commotion, heated talking, more people leaving, rude gestures. Junkrat curls in on himself to talk closer to Roadhog's ears. 

"They're calling us a pair of poofters, Hoggy." He's laughing about it but it still makes Roadhog tense and curl his hand into a fist against the wall, prompting Junkrat to be the voice of reason for once as he strokes the back of Roadhog's neck lovingly, moans sweetly. 

"We'll blow them all up," he thrusts a little faster into Roadhog's mouth at the thought, "burn the whole place d-downaahffuckk, Roadie, I'm-" Roadhog sucks harder, presses his nose to Junkrat's pubes, "the- the guards are coming back." Roadhog grunts, he knows. Seems like their distraction didn't last as long as they'd hoped. 

"Don't stop!" He squirms and trembles, digs his nails into Roadhog's skin as his moans rise in pitch and volume, fucking into his partner's willing mouth erratically until he tenses and stills with a breathy titter, making sure to make eye contact with the inmate who talked shit at him as he drools and whimpers and coos over Roadhog's talents. Roadhog swallows around the softening cock, then pulls back slightly and wipes the cum and saliva away from his lips and chin the best he can with the back of his hand in the confined space between his face and Junkrat's stomach. He gets his mask in place and helps his partner down from his shoulders before the guards arrive shouting and hitting and shoving, maneuvering them all into the changing area. They have no idea who started that fire, no way to prove anything at least, they were all right here in the showers, right? 

Junkrat is having a hard time trying not to break down in giggles as he smothers his face to Roadhog's skin and leans on him for balance. Roadhog helps him dry his back while Junkrat runs a towel over Roadhog's hip and side, whispering sweet words about the things he wants to do to the still hard cock between his legs, praising its girth, and Roadhog thinks to himself that he really is a simple man in this regard because this kind of talk goes straight to his groin. 

The guards are yelling and Junkrat yells back, though he does unglue himself from Roadhog's stomach once threatened with one of those pesky hardlight batons. The both dry off in silence, Junkrat licking and biting his lips, no doubt thinking about repaying the favor. Roadhog gives him his "be patient"-look and helps him fold up the right sleeve of his uniform. 

Rec time is cut short because of the fire incident and they all get shoved down the hallways and into their cells. Junkrat wobbles slightly on his temporary hardlight leg, it will be removed as soon as he's back in his cell so he won't hurt himself or his cell mate with it. Junkrat laughs to himself, he's still got one perfectly good hand and a strong set of teeth should the need arise. 

Roadhog's cell is towards the end if the hall, though not as far as Junkrat's, they relocated him to the very last one just a few days after their arrival to try and deal with his noise level. One particular night where he forgot where he was and woke up screaming bloody murder because he couldn't find his bodyguard stands out in Roadhog's mind. 

The cell door is opened. Roadhog makes his way inside and waits for the guard to leave before letting out a deep, breathy chuckle. 

"Thought I was the one with memory problems."

Junkrat laughs and Roadhog covers his mouth with a big hand to get him to quiet down. Roadhog doesn't have a cell mate, not Junkrat, not anybody else, too big to sleep on a single narrow bed. The guard must have been stressed out from the fire incident and forgotten that they shouldn't be in the same cell, just assumed that they went together with the way they always walk around in a pair. Junkrat bites his lip and grins as Roadhog removes his hand, he's supporting himself against him and it allows him to easily lean in and rub his fingers over Roadhog's clothed dick. 

"Ready for round two, big boy?" 

Roadhog moves towards the pushed-together beds. 

"We never finished round one."

Junkrat titters and situates himself between Roadhog's legs after he's pulled his pants and underwear down and sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands to give Junkrat access to his half hard cock. 

A warm tongue pokes out to tease his glans and Roadhog hums approvingly, closing his eyes and leaning back a little further. Junkrat's hand fondles his balls then wraps around the base of his dick and gives it a slow stroke, tongue going under his foreskin for a bit before he pulls back and opens his mouth to take in the bulky head. Junkrat is noisy and sloppy and it only adds to the heated pressure building in Roadhog's groin, drool trickling down his shaft as his partner works to take his girth and Roadhog groans as he imagines how Junkrat's face must look, flushed and cross-eyed. He lifts a hand and places it on Junkrat's head, carefully pushing down and gently gripping his hair, he feels him swallow around the hard length and moan, enjoying this just as much as Roadhog does. 

"F-Fuck..."

Roadhog lays back and arches his spine, moans loudly, repeatedly, Junkrat's former name on his mind but not his lips. He's close already, no longer possessing the stamina of his youth, filled with feelings for his boss, friend, partner. He grabs at the thin, scratchy sheet beneath him, bucks his hips, moans again. Junkrat wants him. He still can't wrap his head around it sometimes, he wants him for who he is, what he is, driven by something like love rather than fear or obligation or even admiration. Roadhog inhales shakily and Junkrat pulls away with a strained moan, having to catch his breath. 

"You're thinking too much, mate." He licks and sucks and places almost chaste kisses on the head of Roadhog's dick as they both pant and squirm. The guards will probably be making their rounds soon. Roadhog lets out a heavy exhale and presses the side of his mask to the mattress. 

"What's eatin' ya, Hog?" Junkrat snickers at his own joke, Roadhog shakes his head. 

"'m fine. Close."

Junkrat licks a broad stripe up Roadhog's cock. 

"Yeah?" 

Roadhog grunts, Junkrat covers his teeth and goes back down. 

It's tempting to bury himself in the tight, wet heat, to palm the back of Junkrat's head and just _thrust_. Instead he moves his hips just barely, stretches his body with a deep groan and grabs the edge of the mattress above his head. 

"More hand."

Junkrat pulls back enough to just mouth at the head as he tightens his grip around the thick shaft, giving it a slow, tight pull that has Roadhog's toes curling, makes him gasp and arch and spread his legs wider. He can feel Junkrat smile against his erection and it makes his face flush and his breath stutter, encouraging moans spilling from him as Junkrat's hand twists and pulls and strokes him fast and tight until a hard suck takes him by surprise and sends him tumbling over the edge, spilling liberally over Junkrat's tongue. Junkrat laughs breathlessly and keeps stroking, pulling away a little to let the second and third wave of Roadhog's orgasm hit his cheek and lips and chin. 

Roadhog pants hard and shudders as he starts to come down, cock becoming limp even as it twitches in a valiant attempt to draw out the orgasm. Junkrat giggles and struggles to get out of his pants, high on endorphins and adrenaline as he buries his face in the crease between Roadhog's thigh and stomach, groaning as he finally gets his own dick in hand and starts jerking himself off hard and fast, smearing cum from his face into Roadhog's skin. Roadhog puts a hand on Junkrat's head, too spent to do much else, and that seems to be enough because it takes less than a minute for him to tense up and come onto the floor with a silent gasp. 

"Fuckin' love rootin' ya, mate..." 

Roadhog pets Junkrat's head with a quiet hum, ready to fall asleep until he hears boots against the floor and feels the patchy hair slip away from under his fingers. He tries to sit but is pressed down by a couple of guards while a third pulls Junkrat to his single foot and starts dragging him out of the cell. They were probably just standing there waiting, not wanting to deal with two Junkers in the throes of passion. Roadhog pushes the guards off but stops his not yet started rampage when he sees Junkrat grinning sheepishly at him, face flushed and hair even more unruly than usual, face dirty with cum and licking his lips as they pull him away. He's the hottest mess Roadhog has ever laid eyes on. 

"See ya later, Hoggie!" 

If his boss doesn't want a fight, he won't start one. He gets himself back in his pants and sits through what is probably verbal abuse in a language he doesn't understand, smiling behind his mask. These people have no idea what's coming to them. 

-

"Woulda loved to nap with ya, mate, but I got an idea for casings and had to tinker."

Roadhog nods, he doesn't mind as long as Junkrat is okay. Plus the guards would have dragged them apart eventually anyway. 

They're in line for dinner, shuffling forward every fourteen and a half seconds, slowly getting closer to being served. 

"We could probably do something with what I have already but I dunno, Hog..." he bites at a dirty fingernail, "miss my old stuff, think there's any chance of getting our hands on my detonator?" 

Roadhog looks at him over his shoulder. He needs to stop talking. 

"Yeah thought so, guess I gotta go scrapping. Don't suppose ya got any mates with access to the workshop that ya haven't told me about?" 

Roadhog exhales audibly. 

"Right, right. Quiet."

They make it to the front of the line as some of the last, presents their trays as they have done for weeks. Mushy beans, stale bread, unrecognizable vegetables and some kind of meat are spooned onto their separate sections. Roadhog has given up on trying to explain that he doesn't want the meat, he'll just give it to Junkrat, he can use the extra calories. 

He waits for his partner then starts to make his way towards one of the more empty tables near the wall, trying to find one with the right balance of fewer inmates while still being out of earshot of the guards when he feels the first plastic tray hit his back. 

Roadhog doesn't understand exactly what they're saying, but the jeering and pig noises makes it clear enough what this is about. Another tray hits him, square in the back of his head, accompanied by a very creative "homo pig" in English, and Junkrat drops his own own tray noisily as he starts climbing a table so he can make it to their assailants. Roadhog grabs the back of his uniform and pulls him back, the guards are watching and they're already on their bad side because of what they were doing earlier. Junkrat pants and grits his teeth, lets out a strained "bloody wankers" before crouching down and starting to pick through the mess on the floor and putting it in his mouth. Dirty food is still food. Roadhog sits down next to him in solidarity and Junkrat leans into him, just a little, dependent, making Roadhog feel a strange sense of guilt wash over him. 

"Don't you worry, Hog, I'll get us out of here."

Roadhog is quiet, he knows Junkrat says these things more for his own sake than anyone else's and he leans back on his hands with a sigh, wondering how he'll keep him safe in an environment where he can't always be there.


	2. Chapter 2

Junkrat needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.

They drag him off early in the morning after he's been bragging about his distraction fire for the past thirty minutes to his very tired cellmate. He gets a few days in solitary apparently, Roadhog only knows what he manages to overhear and most of it he doesn't understand. He sits heavily on his bed and runs his hands over his mask. Fucking idiot.

Two days pass in silence. Having to eat alone again is lonely. People are staring and there's no one to divert the attention. Falling asleep without being able to hear Junkrat rambling feels weird. Sometimes Roadhog will make his way to the gate separating the isolation cells from the regular ones, just to see if he can hear Junkrat when they open the slot in his cell door and slide his meals in, see if they can communicate somehow, but Junkrat is silent and Roadhog's words stuck in his throat.

He wakes too early on the morning of the third day, something like instinct or a sixth sense making his eyes open and his body move, go to his cell door. He sees Junkrat, limp in their arms. His hands on the iron bars tighten and the metal bends.

When he wakes next he is sore, disoriented. He stares at the artificially lit ceiling, running a hand over a sore spot at the side of his neck.

Sleep dart.

He sits. It's quiet, must be dinner time, all the guards and inmates stuck together in the mess-hall, leaving his hallway empty. Idiots. Roadhog stands and looks the door over, the image of Junkrat being carried away, unconscious, flashing through his mind as he grabs the bars and _pulls_. The hinges give a little, but not enough that this won't take all night. Roadhog huffs, physical anger filling him as he pushes against the door next, kicks at the lock, punches it hard enough for his knuckles to rip and bleed. He takes a few steps back, picks up speed and throws himself at the door shoulder first. The lock gives in on the fifth or sixth try and Roadhog tumbles out into the hallway. There's commotion, voices coming closer. He gets up and moves in direction of the infirmary, adrenaline pumping, breath coming heavy. He might just have made a mistake, but there's no going back now.

Knocking out the guards guarding the infirmary, keeping him from seeing Junkrat, is short work, a palm to each of their faces and a hard enough shove against the wall and they're gone. He fishes a key card out of a pocket and slides it into the slot in the door, looking over his shoulder before he slips inside.

Junkrat is alone in the infirmary. Roadhog stands under the surveillance camera and watches him sleep for a few minutes while trying to steady his breathing. He has no idea what condition Junkrat is in, why exactly they pulled him out of there. What they've done to him. Roadhog reaches up and crushes the camera in his fist before making his way over to the too clean bed with the too clean Junkrat, lying too still, breathing too deeply.

"Hey Hoggie."

His voice is hoarse, but he's smiling. Roadhog places a hand on the bed. Junkrat giggles softly. They've strapped his limbs down with hardlight constraints and Roadhog is breathing too hard as he breaks open the small boxes generating them and strokes the previously trapped skin, rubbed pink and sore, with his thumb.

"What happened?"

Junkrat blinks heavily, then closes his eyes again.

"Dunno... can't remember."

Roadhog gently strokes his forehead, tilts Junkrat's face back towards him when it starts lolling to the other side.

"They put me in one of those... alone places, right?"

Roadhog nods.

"You got me out?"

Junkrat takes in Roadhog's silent negative and looks sluggishly around the room, lets out a defeated sigh when he realizes that he is indeed still trapped in prison, just a different location. He drags Roadhog's hand up to rest on his ribs and starts tracing patterns around the split skin on his knuckles.

"Had to punch through a few doors to get here."

Junkrat giggles and pushes Roadhog's hand lower, over his stomach and down to rest on his crotch, still petting and stroking his partner's toughened skin.

"Touch me."

Roadhog sighs inwardly but still gives him a squeeze and chuckles at the over the top moan he gets in return, how Junkrat writhes on the bed even when he isn't really touching him, acting out of habit. He wishes Junkrat would just ask for what he really wants instead of trying to distract himself with sex, though who is he to judge when there's so many things he can't communicate either.

"Hit you up pretty good with those sedatives..."

Roadhog gives Junkrat's limp cock a reassuring pat and puts his hand back on the bed. Junkrat resumes stroking Roadhog's skin.

"Listen," Roadhog glances at the door, then moves closer into Junkrat's field of vision, trying to make eye contact. "Hey. Junkrat." Junkrat blinks slowly and tries to focus on the glass circles on his mask. As always it feels strange to see him do anything slowly.

"I didn't exactly get permission to come here."

Junkrat giggles.

"Breaking rules, Hoggie?"

"It happens. We-" Junkrat howls with laughter at Roadhog's dry tone and Roadhog has to snap his fingers in front of his face to get his attention back, or he tries to, he's never been very good at snapping his fingers.

"We might have to change our plans a little. Knocked out some guards, might be dead, won't take the others long to come here and when they do, we won't be seeing each other for a long time." He'll probably be transferred to another prison, or at the very least another section with higher security. There's quite a difference between bank robbery and murdering prison staff. Junkrat takes hold of Roadhog's arm and hauls himself into a sitting position with some difficulty and a slight groan, pausing for a second and blinking hard before swinging his leg over the side of the bed and starting to make his way down.

"Let's get outta here then."

Roadhog stops him with a hand on his thigh. Junkrat looks up at his mask, then rests the side of his face on his gut, laugh in his breath.

"Yer right, wouldn't make it far like this." He thinks for a minute. Roadhog can hear guards in the hallway outside.

"Help me up, mate." He pulls at Roadhog's clothes and starts climbing up his back with the help of strong arms and big hands, wrapping himself around his bodyguard the best he can. "Now grab those things," he points to the wall, "and the sheets and let's get going!"

Roadhog pulls the sheets off the nearest beds and hands them to Junkrat, grounding his stance and readying himself for when the door busts open. Apparently they're breaking out now. Roadhog thought they were going to wait until they had resources and Junkrat had explosives prepared, but with him fleeing his cell he has made that option quite difficult. The door slides open and guards spill into the room, batons and tasers at the ready, Junkrat cackles and tightens his arms around Roadhog's neck, placing a slow, wet kiss on the back of it before Roadhog barrels forward and throws the first punch. It's short work getting rid of the four guards they sent, but they have to move before more come and trap them in the infirmary or hallway.

"What did you need?"

Junkrat makes a questioning sound.

"You told me to grab 'those things'."

"Oh. Uhh, the hand cleaning thingies."

Roadhog walks over and rips the hand sanitizer dispensers off the wall and gives them to him, then continues toward the door when it becomes clear that he needs nothing more from the room. They move out into the hallway and in direction of the entrance and exit area, it's more heavily guarded but also has a more or less direct, although blocked by doors and grates, route to the outside and is their best chance of escape now that they can't follow their original plan of blowing a hole in the wall. Junkrat hands Roadhog the ends of one of the sheets and tells him to tie them together in front of his chest, creating a kind of sling so Junkrat doesn't have to fight as hard to stay stuck to his back.

Guards are moving in on them from multiple sides, if they get them restrained it's over, not even Roadhog can break hardlight cuffs. He runs through the mess-hall and the other inmates catch on to what's happening and start cheering and laughing and hollering, some making a run for the exits as well and Junkrat cackles and joins their new accomplices in cheering Roadhog on. They reach the door leading out of the mess-hall and Junkrat skitters to Roadhog's front to see if he can do something about the lock. Tasers and batons hit his back and Roadhog swings an arm, hitting several guards but not enough to stop the assault on him, and while he can take the beating and won't budge, it still throbs and smarts and bruises.

"This junk's pretty advanced, mate." Junkrat grins sheepishly, unsteady on his one foot, sweat on the back of his neck. Roadhog grunts and jolts against another wave of electricity going through him, nudges Junkrat with his gut to get him to hurry up.

"I'm trying!"

Another baton hits his back. This isn't working. Roadhog turns around and grabs the nearest guard.

"Key."

The guard struggles and shakes his head, Roadhog throws him off to the side. He grabs another.

"Key."

Defiant staring, throw.

He doesn't bother asking the third one, just holds him out in front of him until he gets impatient with his struggling and throws him away too. The next person he grabs is finally a guard he recognizes as someone who usually keeps watch during meal times. He slams him against the wall next to Junkrat and holds him still with one hand while he fishes the key card from his pocket with the other. He's still hit on his back and neck by the rest of the guards and receives a foot to the dick by the guy he's trapping against the wall, making him let out a short, pained groan and squeeze the man's ribcage tighter. He misses his dick cage. Roadhog slams his head against the guard's skull and watches him slide down the wall as he hands Junkrat the key.

"Ta, mate!"

The door slides open and Junkrat hops through followed by Roadhog shuffling backwards, punching the guards trying to follow them. The door closes and Roadhog breaks the lock. The inmates complain. Junkrat giggles and climbs onto his back again, wrapping his arms around his thick neck as he sets off in a trot. How the fuck are they going to do this? Roadhog is sturdy but he won't be able to take a beating like that at every door they have to go through. He huffs, breathing strained as he rounds a corner and continues towards the outside.

"Rip this up for me."

Junkrat dangles one of sheets in front of him and Roadhog takes it and rips it in two while moving down the hallway.

"Six, no, eight should do it."

Roadhog splits the fabric again and hands Junkrat the pieces as he gets done with them, earning him a kiss on the neck and a cackling "thanks." Navigation is impossible as there are no signs, no indication of what leads where, everything gray and barren, so he just runs until he ends up in a useless meeting room and gets them trapped by the guards catching up to them.

Roadhog grunts, this could get messy. Junkrat climbs off his back and hops over to a corner with his arms loaded full of hand sanitizer and shredded sheets as Roadhog starts punching and grabbing and throwing. There's a lot of them, jumping on his back and hitting his head. The alarms are blaring. Roadhog throws himself against the wall, crushing and bruising and breaking anyone who stands between them and their freedom, anyone who poses a threat to Junkrat. Adrenaline surges through his body and he roars, swings at the guards pouring in through the door and feels bones break under his massive fists, blood coating his knuckles.

_"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"_

Something grenade-sized and bright flies past Roadhog's head, hits a guard in the chest and drops to the floor. A ball of burning sheet lies on the cold concrete and there's an almost comical split second of confusion before the fight picks up its pace again. The fire of the first ball didn't quite catch but the second does its job, flames latching onto the pant leg of a uniform and the guard yells, panic spreading just as fast as the fire burning them. Another ball is lobbed and lights up a shoulder as Junkrat crawls over to Roadhog who is slowly backing away so he won't catch on fire too. He feels hands grab at his clothes and thinks that Junkrat is going to climb onto his back again but instead he slowly pulls himself up to lean against the side of his gut, admiring his work for a second. Roadhog looks behind him and sees a ripped out electrical plug and a half empty container of hand sanitizer on the floor, the fist in his shirt tightens and he looks back in time to see Junkrat wipe drool from his chin as he sways slightly on his leg. He puts an arm around his back and his hand on his waist.

"You got a plan?"

Junkrat doesn't respond, too mesmerized by the flames to register much else at the moment. Roadhog presses the snout of his mask to his head briefly before he picks him up and Junkrat wraps his arms around his neck, giggling a little while watching the fire still. He puts a hand on his rear to support him against his front. What did they do to him? Why was he pulled out of his isolation cell unconscious? They need to get moving, the guards won't be occupied with trying to put out the fire forever. Roadhog steps over and pins one to the floor with his foot, feeling the heat of the man's burning pants lick up the back of his leg.

"How do we get out?"

Junkrat snickers.

"Straight to the point as usual."

The guard curses at him and reaches for his taser but Roadhog simply leans down and takes it, feels ribs creak and break under his weight.

"Which way?"

Junkrat cackles and takes the taser when Roadhog hands it to him, presses his face to his neck with a slightly hoarse "thanks, love." Roadhog huffs quietly, ears warm, and buries the feeling to be dealt with later. The guard squirms and Roadhog steps down harder.

"We'll get out whether you tell us or not."

The fire is picking up, the air heavy with heat and the smell of burning skin. Junkrat squirms and titters, mutters about how beautiful it all is with a groan and a small shudder. Roadhog chuckles and pats his ass. The guard struggles, breath pained and too fast.

"I'll show you."

Roadhog tilts his head.

"I'll help you out, please don't kill me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hang out a lot on this discord server: https://discord.gg/gdFQkuj if anyone wants to come by and talk about roadrat (you need to be 18+ to join) we're a whole bunch of fanfic writers and artists just chatting and having a good time, come join us!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Comments and feedback are always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

The other guards are all either dead, unconscious or have run away, probably to get guns and backup. Roadhog lifts his foot and the guard scrambles to get rid of his burning clothes, Junkrat laughs.

"Where's our stuff?"

The guard gets to his feet and points awkwardly out the door, looks to Roadhog, looks to Junkrat. Roadhog nudges him and the three of them make their way back out to the hallways. The ex-junkers are led through the prison at a brisk pace, a labyrinth of textureless gray and endless doors, alarms making their ears ring, footsteps echoing back at them. Junkrat cries out and jolts in Roadhog's arms and Roadhog instinctively curls in on himself a little, looks behind him down the empty hallway, snaps his head back to look at the guard who holds up palms in fear. His neck hurts where Junkrat's nails are digging into his skin.

"Sorry mate," his voice shakes, but he still barks out his signature laugh into Roadhog's shoulder, "think I had a bit of snooze there." Roadhog huffs out a worried but understanding breath, a shot pierces the air, the guard sets off in a sprint, a bullet lodges itself in the meat of Roadhog's back. He runs after the guard, shoving him against the wall and grabbing his throat.

"His prostheses, where are they?"

The guard looks confused and struggles to shake his head, another shot, pain.

"Metal arm and leg. Last chance."

"D-Down this hallway, left, then right, third d-door."

He answers too fast to lie.

"Where's my motorcycle?" A bullet pierces his shoulder, Junkrat tries to light up another one of his lumps of rolled up sheet with his taser.

"Outside-"

Roadhog grunts and unhooks the guard's key card device from his belt before pushing him toward the others. He runs, shielding Junkrat from the assault of gunshots with his bulk, though he does take one to his right arm hooked around Roadhog's neck, gritting his teeth and feeling his bodyguard tighten his hold on him. They aren't going to make it, he can't outrun bullets. He takes a left turn, lungs burning, knees ready to give in, Junkrat laughs, antsy, eager to take part in the fight, Roadhog turns right. They've been here before, back when they were caught. He sets Junkrat down, handing him the key device and tilting his head up to look at him.

"The door is right over there, get your arm and leg and whatever else you can carry. Find an exit but don't go outside, I'll find you."

Junkrat narrows his eyes slightly, looking like he's about to object but instead he just nods and puts a hand on Roadhog's chest.

"I'll mark the walls."

Roadhog lowers his head and presses the snout of his mask to Junkrat's hair. He wants to tell him to surrender if they don't get to meet up again, that there's a very real chance that he'll get killed or caught and if they're together they'll both go down, that if Junkrat is alone be might be able to talk his way back to his cell.

"Don't pick any fights you can't manage," he says instead and lumbers back toward the guards to buy them time.

Junkrat hops over to the door and unlocks it on his fourth try, quickly making his way inside. His eyes scan the rows and rows of boxes on either side of him, looks for the name he never really learned to write before his parents weren't around to teach him anymore. Fokes? Fowkes? His brain sizzles with recognition when he sees it. _Fawkes, Jamison_. His stuff is neatly organized in the cardboard box, his canteen, his bag, his pants. His arm is there but not his leg, he connects it with a pained sigh, the feeling familiar but foreign after weeks of being without it. He stuffs his accessories and pants into his bag and gets it strapped around his hips together with his canteen. He can hear Roadhog's roars through the walls. Junkrat chews on his lip, finds his leg on the floor under the shelves. He sits down, they've thrown away his bandages, the metal is hard and cold against his bare stump. The hinges creak when he tests the knee, his head feels heavy, not like his own, he wants to sleep, he never sleeps, not on purpose. He needs to get up, find a way out, he should find Roadhog's things, his rings at least, and his, he grins a little, nipple piercings. He stands, looks around. Road… no, they had those sign things when they were getting their photos taken, there was an…. M, but that’s his first name, right? Right. His last name was something else, something like Roadhog… road, rut, root, rut, like sex. He paces, root, rut, root, rut… rod, Rodríguez, Rodríguez, Rogers, Ruiz, he flips the lids open, items unfamiliar until they suddenly aren’t, blue camo pants and gold rings greeting him. He glances at the writing on the front of the box. Rutledge, Mako. Huh. He tests the name a few times, feels weird. There’s another box with the same name next to it. Roadhog’s harness. It’s too big and heavy to bring along, he rips the badges and patches off and puts them in his bag together with the rings and piercings and his own things, ties the pants around himself and makes for the door. No weapons, must be somewhere else. 

Back in the hallway. He looks around, no guards, no Roadhog in sight. He titters nervously and runs in the direction opposite where he came from. It feels great to have his leg back, so good, bloody amazing, even if it’s still just as much the wrong length as it has always been and he’s had to develop a lurching stride to move himself forward. He marks the walls with his metal fingers as he goes. He’ll have to give them a paint job when they get out, maybe give them a pattern or a different color, paint them pink just for Hoggie. Well…. maybe not permanently, he likes orange, maybe if Hoggie _really_ likes it he’ll consider it. He opens doors at random but doesn’t find anything interesting. He needs his frag launcher, needs it bad, he opens his fist and closes it again, open, close, open, close, trigger finger goes click click click click. That fire got him going, teased him without getting him off, fucking cunt fire, he needs to blow something up, maybe he’ll get to soon, finish off this whole prison thing with a bang. He turns another corner and scratches an arrow into the wall, when is Roadhog going to catch up? Another laugh escapes him, teeth digging into his lip, metal against his tongue. Roadhog better fucking catch up. He needs, he needs explosives, needs freedom, needs Roadhog, Roadhog, Roadhog. No point in escaping alone. A bullet flies past his ear, loud, /hot/. Junkrat half yells, half laughs and scampers down the hallway followed by angry orders in Spanish to cease and surrender. He scrambles around another corner and almost falls, takes a few steps, turns back, squats down against the wall. He bites back the laugh threatening to spill out, pulse deafening in his ears. He unhooks his taser from his belt just in time to attack the guards, taking them by surprise as they turn the corner. He thrusts the weapon at one guard’s groin, shoots to his full height and elbows the other in the face with his prosthetic arm. They’re trained men and don’t go down easy, but Junkrat has lived his entire life like this, fighting, surviving, uncaring of consequences. He blew off his own leg and laughed about it. His metal hand hits hard and heavy, breaks a jaw, blood spills onto the floor. Junkrat pants hard, giggles as he bends down and takes two guns from the unconscious guards. He kicks them an extra time with his peg leg for good measure then continues on his way. Where’s Roadhog? Where’s the exit? His ear is bleeding, heat trailing down his neck. He’s been wandering around for hours, maybe it’s only been ten minutes, his own laugh echoes back at him from cold walls as he searches for a way out, back and forth, all dead ends and useless rooms until he sees it, a double set of see-through doors and beyond them, the prison entrance. 

Freedom. 

Almost. If they can get past the outer wall. 

Junkrat’s hands shake as he tries to get the first lock open, swipes through digital keys in the hopes of finding one that works. He should slow down to read but his mind is working too fast for his body, or is it his body working too fast for his mind? Error, error, error, error. Red, red, red, red. Fucking useless piece of shit. He forces himself to take a deep breath, close his eyes for two seconds. Would be much better with Roadhog’s big hand there to engulf him in darkness. His jaw hurts from grinding his teeth. He opens his eyes and tries reading the display, it’s all in Spanish, he can’t read this. Listen and understand, sure. Talk, well, he tries, but reading wasn’t exactly first priority among Junkertown teenagers, not even in English. Frustrated noises leave him. Swipe, scan, swipe, scan, swipe, scan, swipe, scan, swipe, scan, swipe, scan, swipe, scan, swi- oh it opened. Junkrat cackles and leaps through the first door to the next one, scans the lock on the second and proceeds to smack his face hard against the glass. 

Okay, so the locks aren’t the same. 

_”Rat!”_

Junkrat swivels around on his peg leg, grins wide and starts hobbling back to the hallway he was in before.

“Hog! Hoggie!! I found the exit, get yer arse over here!”

There’s no sight of him.

“Where ya at, Hoggie?”

He can hear him grunting, annoyed, exhausted.

“Can ya hear me?”

It’s impossible not to. Roadhog rounds a corner with two bloody guards on the floor and continues forward, slowing his pace a little since Junkrat doesn’t sound to be in too much distress.

“Keep talking.”

Junkrat does just that and it isn’t long before the two are able to lay eyes on each other again, beaten bloody and panting. Junkrat laughs and scampers over as Roadhog slows down to a walk.

“I found a way out.”

He sounds so excited, self-satisfied. Roadhog puts a hand on his head, lets him rub his face against it as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Sweat rolls down his neck and joins the blood already soaking his clothes, heightened pulse pumping vigorously. He drops his gaze to Junkrat’s metal arm.

“Got me parts,” he smiles, probably tries to be reassuring as he tugs on Roadhog’s arm to get them to the door. Roadhog watches as Junkrat gets the door opened, becoming increasingly aware of the bullet holes littering his body, how his fingers and toes are tingling, feeling numb. 

“Guard towers,” he wheezes as Junkrat nears the outside, hunched low and with eyes narrowed. Junkrat pulls one of the guns from his belt and waves it around a little to show that he has it. The ground around the towers is dimly lit, bathing everything in an eerie pale light. If it wasn’t for the blaring alarms it would almost be reminiscent of empty outback nights. Chewing on his bottom lip, Junkrat limps forward and cocks the gun in his hand, closes one eye and shoots. He misses the guard spectacularly, the bullet ricocheting off the metal tower with a loud pang. There’s movement in the window, dots of red light appearing and turning toward his direction. Junkrat jumps back with a nervous laugh and glues himself to Roadhog’s heaving form.

“It’s fucking tin cans!” He giggles angrily, licks his lips. Roadhog lets him hold onto his hand and pick at his polish while thinking, muttering lowly to himself.

“Give me the gun.”

He tilts his head back and looks up at Roadhog.

“Your aim is shit.”

Junkrat frowns but hands him one of the guns and watches cautiously as Roadhog approaches the door opening and takes aim.

“You need to pull the trigger.”

His fingers are too big, Junkrat realises. He hobbles over and puts his hand on Roadhog’s, running his fingers over the back of it before resting one of them one the trigger.

“What would you do without me, mate?”

Roadhog huffs and tilts his head, adjusts his aim. Junkrat’s back is warm against his stomach.

“Fire.”

The sound of the shot is lackluster in comparison to Junkrat’s explosions, the absence of fiery orange disappointing. The bullet misses the omnic by several meters. Junkrat laughs hysterically. They step back. Roadhog closes his eyes, tries to keep calm, sways on his feet. They’re done for.

“We're so close, Hog. We-” Junkrat cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, digs his nails into his skin. Even if they actually did manage to hit the omnic in the tower it wouldn’t help them much, there’s several of them guarding the wall around the prison, both in other towers and on the ground, metal bodies and digital senses. They wouldn’t make it past the gate. Junkrat looks up at Roadhog.

“We need to get The Hog, something to make explosives…” He bites his nail, eyes lingering on Roadhog’s injuries. Roadhog’s gaze drops to the bullet hole in Junkrat’s arm in return. They need hogdrogen.

“Show me that device.”

Junkrat hands the key device to him. Roadhog scrolls through the keys for a minute before showing the screen to Junkrat. A map takes up most of the small, green rectangle. There’s visual directions leading to another location close by, a few icons and a word up top.

“How’d ya make it do that? Ya know Spanish too? Coulda told me.”  
Roadhog shakes his head. 

“Only words like these.” His time with the Liberation Front has taught him the word for ‘weapon’ in just about every language. He shows Junkrat the small icons in the corner, a key and a map pointer, switches between them to show him how he got the map and chuckles at the wide eyed look he receives. 

“You forget I grew up with stuff like this.” 

He does. Junkrat doesn’t remember a time when every kid had their own phone and tablet, where they got to go to school instead of fighting for their survival, spent evenings in front of the TV or computer, not huddled together for warmth. Roadhog had so much time to learn, Jamison had none.

It takes a few seconds for Junkrat to realise that Roadhog is talking to him and he blinks unevenly as he leans closer to look at the screen.

“If they haven’t destroyed our weapons, then they’re in there.” The map gives directions to a separate building next to the main part of the prison but within the walls. Junkrat nods and unties Roadhog’s pants from around himself, hands them over together with his stuffed full bag.

“I’ll go first,” he says, determined. Roadhog visibly tenses, huffs hard in the way he always does when Junkrat is about to put himself in danger. “I’m smaller, faster, harder to hit. Part metal too.” He knocks on his prosthetic knee with his omnic hand for emphasis. Roadhog looks to the outside, then back at Junkrat. He can’t bring himself to give him the okay even if he knows he’s right, they’re both painfully aware of how hurt Roadhog is but neither want to address it directly. Junkrat forces a smile.

“Wait for my signal.”

He takes the device and is gone before Roadhog can react. A few seconds pass in painful and hopeful suspense before the shots start sounding, soon joined by Junkrat’s cackling laugh. Roadhog doesn’t breathe, just watches the lights dance on the ground in search of his ever-moving partner. His knees feel like they could give in any second. He should just run out there, absorb the bullets, protect, die fighting. He is going to experience loss and he is going to die, maybe not within the next few minutes, maybe not tonight. It might be years, but it will happen.

He’s scared.

The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. Roadhog has never been scared, never felt fear, not like this. Not since he was Mako and saw the world die around him. 

“Hog!”

Mako Rutledge is dead and Roadhog will be killed by his ghost. 

“Hog!! Fuck! Roadhog!!”

He jolts back to awareness, legs moving before his brain can catch up. How long has Junkrat been calling? There’s blood on the ground, too much to just be from his arm and ear. Searing hot pain pierces Roadhog's back as he runs towards Junkrat's voice, his neck, his legs, burning, filled with lead, little explosions. Junkrat is pulling desperately at a partly open door, panic in his eyes as he makes eye contact with the blank circles on Roadhog's mask. 

“It's stuck!”

Junkrat presses his face to the sliver of space between the door and the wall as Roadhog gets into position protecting his back. 

“She's in there. She's in there, Hog, we just gotta-” He pulls at the door again, trying to get it to slide open far enough for them to get in. Roadhog wedges his thick fingers in and starts pulling as well, bones and muscles protesting in pain trying to move a near immovable object. There's omnics on the ground now, calling out to them in disturbingly perfect, echoing English. Junkrat cries out in pain as a bullet goes through his shoulder and he instinctively crouches down to try and protect his vitals, head tucked low yet he still continues to help with the door the best he can. Roadhog's vision is swimming. He's pretty sure there's a few bullets lodged in his skull by now, his back is definitely covered in holes, the muscles in his legs overexerted and shot through. The omnics keep coming closer, aim accuracy increasing. 

He should be dead, but he isn't. A mutant. A monster by human standards, born from a broken society. 

If they want a monster, he'll show them a monster. 

Roadhog roars and the door screams, metal grinding on metal, gears breaking, muscles bulging. 

“Get inside,” he manages through grit teeth and Junkrat squeezes through the widening gap, clutching at a wound on his stomach as he crawls into the storage hangar. The walls are lined with shelves of confiscated weapons and explosives, the smell of the chemicals bring a bit of calm to his frantic mind and he stands, sways and weaves his way through the vehicles taking up the floor, past Roadhog's beloved chopper and toward the shelves. His hands shake as they find the familiar yellow cans of hogdrogen, about five, hopefully enough to get them through this. He can hear Roadhog punch the bots, more shooting, metal on the ground, heavy breathing. His fingers struggle to activate the mechanism releasing the gas but he eventually gets it and acrid, yellow smoke fills the air with a soothing hiss. He breathes it in hungrily, inhales hard through his nose the best he can. It hurts, everything hurts so goddamn much. His vision grows spotty for a few seconds, head swimming and he laughs, chokes on his breath as bullets work their way out of his flesh. He staggers back to the door, no longer moving as Roadhog struggles to keep himself upright. If he goes down there's no getting back up. Omnics litter the ground, merely pieces of scrap now. Roadhog pushes Junkrat's head down as he emerges, a sniper shot rings out and hits Roadhog's hunched shoulders, making him moan weakly in pain. Junkrat gets himself positioned between his bodyguard and the door and presses a quick, desperate kiss to the stitched mouth on his mask.

“I've got ya, Hoggie,” he fumbles with the canister for a bit before clicking it into place, rubbing Roadhog's chest in soothing circles as he wheezes and pants. Bloody bullets drop to the ground and wounds close, barely faster than new ones can appear. 

“You're alright,” Junkrat strokes his mask and Roadhog wants to tell him to go back inside but no words come out. “Just a little further, just enough for you and the Hog to pass through.”

Roadhog nods and touches Junkrat's cheek briefly before reaching for his hands and grabbing the second canister he's holding. 

“Get her started for me.” Roadhog unbuckles Junkrat's bag from where he's had it strapped around his upper arm and hands it to him. Junkrat tries very hard not to think about the fact that Roadhog's bicep is the size of his own waist, now's really not the time for that. Roadhog presses the canister to the second port on his mask and gives him a thumbs up, trying to be reassuring despite the pain in his back and the tightness in his chest. Junkrat flashes him a smile and scampers back inside.

Roadhog has lifted cars. He’s pulled trucks and fought bots and mechs with his bare hands. He was younger then, body fresh and not littered in injuries old and new, but he still has his size, years and years of muscle that allow him to move the heavy metal door still, easier with every gear and mechanism bent and broken. The chopper roars to life inside just as another shot rings out next to his head and the sweet sound of the engine comes closer as Junkrat walks the Hog closer to the door. The gap is still too small to get the whole thing through but they’re almost there.

“Ready when you are, mate.”

Roadhog grunts and continues pushing, looking back over his shoulder briefly as Junkrat comes outside with his riptire in tow. He grins widely, bloody and bruised and hated by the world but still flashing his teeth and stretching his back and Roadhog is once again hit by just how much he loves him. Junkrat pulls the chain and the tire spins and speeds away, sound almost drowned out by his loud, cackling laugh. It skids and hops toward the wall and more precisely, the gate, their freedom. It explodes beautifully, a symphony of heat and noise and colors, breaking iron and concrete and lighting up the night sky in orange and yellow. It almost makes Roadhog want to mentally wax poetic about the golden amber of Junkrat’s eyes, had they not been in their current situation. He gives the door one final, long push and it moves out of the way with a metallic groan. He coughs, breathes hard with overexertion, chokes on the blood in his throat. A thump sounds behind him and he turns dizzily, takes in the sight of Junkrat on the ground, bloody hands pressing on fresh wounds, mouth stretched in a gasping laugh. Roadhog sways, struggles to keep upright as he reaches for Junkrat’s arm and drags him inside the hangar.

The sidecar is packed with weapons and explosives, ready to go, hogdrogen in easy reach. Roadhog crouches down, loses his balance, sits on his ass. Keeping Junkrat’s head in place with one hand, he releases the healing gas close to his face and watches him grimace as it hits his nostrils.

“Show me ya face, Hoggie.” His lips stretch in a lazy grin, a sharp contrast to his furrowed brows and strained panting. Roadhog huffs and moves his hand to cover Junkrat’s eyes.

“Breathe.”

He does, takes in the gas hungrily once the worst of the pain is over and holds the canister himself as Roadhog removes the bullets working their way out of his body. Junkrat slowly starts to relax and Roadhog strokes his face a little while attaching the canister to his mask to get the rest of the gas. Everything is a blur, sound drowned out by the chopper’s engine, room hazy and dark. He feels Junkrat move and sit, hands working him over.

“Hooly dooly, Hog…” A thumb strokes the side of his neck where a bullet wound is just closing up. Feeling his hand shake so violently scares Roadhog more than just having been on the verge of death.

“Need another?” Junkrat is already reaching into the sidecar for the fourth canister but Roadhog shakes his head and makes a slow attempt to get up, swaying dangerously until Junkrat gets to his foot and peg and supports him on his way to the chopper’s seat. Junkrat climbs into the sidecar, gets Roadhog’s scrapgun settled between his legs and his own launcher ready in his hand. They take off.

Getting through the guards barricading the broken gate is short work now that they have the Hog and their weapons, a few grenades and a ball of scrap and they’re outside. Junkrat howls and Roadhog chuckles, the helicopters overhead not much of a threat to the combination of his driving skills and Junkrat’s launcher. 

They head into the city hoping to disappear in the masses and find a place to hide, to rest. Roadhog drives in a trance, weaving between cars and buildings, trusting Junkrat to protect their backs. His head is foggy, barely registering police cars crashing behind them as his partner lobs his grenades, laugh sounding distant and distorted. 

“Didya see that!?” Junkrat slaps his shoulder hard but gets no response. He laughs again, never really stopped, digs his nails into Roadhog’s skin. “Bring it on, ya cu--

The motorcycle swerves hard, the back is still hit, sending them spinning into a brick building with a speed and force that has Junkrat’s vision black out for several seconds even though Roadhog takes the brunt of the impact. The police are making their way around the crashed cars, surrounding them, and Junkrat pulls hard on Roadhog’s arm to get him off the chopper. Roadhog wheezes and stumbles, but at least he’s still conscious. They grab as much as their stuff as they can and move down a side alley, down another street, more alleys, squeeze through rows of parked cars. Junkrat takes care of the police still following them, their bullet-proof vests ineffective against his barrage of explosives. He cackles, high off an unhealthy mix of dubious medicine, fear, and adrenaline, ears ringing and blood pumping and saliva dripping. Victory! Revenge!!

Where’s Roadhog?

Junkrat spins in place, eyes wild. He’s alone. He hobbles over to the mess he’s caused, no Roadhog, okay good. He scampers back down the street, peers down alleys. He finds him behind a car parked next to the sidewalk. He should have looked back more and made sure he was keeping up, should have stuck together but he gets too caught up in his own head sometimes. He makes his way over and crouches down, smiles even though he doesn’t mean to.

“H-Hey, Hoggie… gettin’ tired?”

If fish had vocal cords, this is probably what they would sound like out of water. Roadhog tries to draw in breath but his chest barely expands, fingers digging uselessly at the pavement, body writhing weakly, helplessly. 

“It’s okay, mate,” Junkrat tries as comes back from fetching one of the cans of hogdrogen that Roadhog has dropped, “we’ll get ya patched right up.” Roadhog pushes his hand away when he tries to connect the canister to his mask, shakes his head and claws at the side of his ribs. Junkrat leans down closer to his face, worry warping his features. “What can I do for ya? Need me to do CPA? You’ll have to tell me how… h-hey... Mako..?” 

Roadhog’s stomach turns at the sound of his name leaving Junkrat’s mouth, even as butchered and bastardized as the pronunciation is. He rolls over onto his side with a moan of pain and tries to reach for his hook. Junkrat grabs it and gives it to him, watches Roadhog press the tip to his skin and blood spill onto the ground, the sound of his breathing as he tries to speak is unbearable.

“..ube..”

Junkrat is in a daze, eyes fixed on Roadhog’s trusty hook, his trademark way of protecting them, dig its way into his flesh. Junkrat makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat.

“..t” The hook clatters to the ground as he loses the strength to lift it any longer and Junkrat’s breath hitches in sync with Roadhog’s, feeling helpless as he leans down close to his partner’s face again.

“need. tub-”

“A tube?”

Roadhog nods and Junkrat scrambles to get up and pop the hood of the nearest car, ripping the nearest tubes he can find from their parts and hurrying back to Roadhog who is trying to dig his fingers into the wound he’s made. Junkrat gets down on his knees beside him.

“Just stick it in here, yeah!?” 

Roadhog tries to give an affirmative as his body convulses and he clutches at his chest. Junkrat’s attempt at getting the tube in is met by too much resistance to push it through to the chest cavity and he lets out a sob of frustration.

It's been a long day, a long life. Mako wraps a hand around Junkrat’s wrist, tight enough to stop his movements. It’s selfish, wanting to ease his own conscience at the cost of Junkrat’s happiness, yet the words seem to make their way out uncaring of whether he wants them to or not.

“...the omnium.” Another unsuccessful inhale, Junkrat struggles to get his arm free so he can continue trying to get the tube in and help him. The pressure around his wrist lessens and he wants nothing more than for it to tighten again as he feels his partner’s body grow limp.

“I’m…” His words are slurred and barely audible over the sound of approaching police sirens. Blood flows freely from the open wound and Junkrat’s vision starts to swim as Mako’s faint, choppy words hit his ears, trying to explain that the explosion was a mistake, that the radiation wasn’t supposed to happen, that he’s at fault. Junkrat’s mind is reeling as he pulls his wrist free of his bodyguard’s slack grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reactions and comments are always very appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

Roadhog isn't breathing.

Neither is Jamison, eyes fixed on the worn leather mask, waiting for it to come back to life, because he could swear it looks alive and moving sometimes, feels like Roadhog's real face. It's the mask's fault he decides, of course he can't breathe with that stupid thing on. He pulls on it but it won't come off, digs his fingers under the edge but it just makes them come back warm and sticky, blood oozing from the border between two conflicting nations, leather and skin, a circle encasing his head in crimson as blood runs into his hair and his ears and down his neck, trickles from every contact point as if the mask is a container holding nothing but blood within. Would his brain be on display if he ripped it off? Lidless eyes, no, empty eye sockets meeting him, bare teeth. Jamison laughs, loud and tinny and sounding like someone else, someone far away and not with his hands desperately pressing down on Roadhog's hairy chest. Nothing happens, ribs hard and ungiving like a metal cage and Jamison feels weak, weak and desperate and _angry_. Who does Roadhog think he is, just lying there?? Does he want to get caught again!? Sirens are sounding, red lights flashing. He grabs the hook and swings down, pierces skin and fat and muscle, again and again and again and the hook becomes a tube that becomes a shiv as he continues stabbing, coating both their bodies in blood. If he breaks through Roadhog will live, right? Right? Right!? He stabs and stabs and stabs, breath coming in bitten-back, chopped off bits of laughter until lightning crashes and thunder roars and everything is consumed by light, sudden silence, negative sound. With the backdrop of The Explosion, Roadhog sits, too big and too still. Blood cascades down his neck and chest from the edges of his mask and Jamison can’t reach to stop it, can’t even cover the gaping hole he’s made in the side of Roadhog’s chest, his hands are too small, both flesh, trembling and sticky and red red red. He can’t do anything he can’t do anything everyone is dying and he can only watch, too small, too small and feeling like everything will turn itself inside out the second he moves or opens his mouth.

 

The dim morning light assaults Junkrat's eyes as he jerks awake, panting into the cold, hay-strewn concrete floor he finds himself on. Where is he?

Who is he?

He blinks unevenly up at the too high ceiling, trying to remember what’s happened. He was in prison, he was… locked up in a dark place…. then they were out. He was shot. He touches his abdomen, still tender but healed over with new, pale skin. He looks at his metal arm. Junkrat. Junkrat and Roadhog. They crashed the bike. Roadhog died. Junkrat’s eyes flick around the room, a barn, they- he’s in a barn, surrounded by hay and tools and machines. His throat hurts as he swallows. He sits up too fast and snaps his head to the right, eyes landing on the still, massive shape in the corner as his brain catches up to itself and remembers that he brought him along.

His flesh leg shakes as he stands, anger a white-hot ball in his stomach and fear a vice around his chest. It hurts. He wants it to hurt, himself, Roadhog, everyone. Just fucking blow it all up until nothing remains. He's allowed isn't he, for what the world's done to him, for what _Roadhog_ has done to him. His teeth grind together so hard they feel like they'll break. Junkrat laughs, mouth closed, too tense. Would be hilarious, wouldn't it? Stick a bomb in there and see them shatter, just another part broken, blow his head clean off now that he's at it. Except he still has shit to do, sights to see, suits to stick it to. He comes to a stop before the form of Roadhog, equal measures of relief and stomach-turning anger hitting him as his eyes fixate on his slowly heaving chest. He bites back a scream and instead kicks his gut lightly with his peg leg.

"Yer awake, aren't ya?"

Roadhog doesn't answer but Junkrat can tell by his breathing, the small, involuntary movement of his fingers that he's listening and just doesn't want to talk. Junkrat wants to laugh but all that comes out is a strangled noise of disbelief. He paces, slow and wobbly at first. His muscles are screaming at him to lay down and rest, to recover from injuries that could have killed him three times over but instead he staggers back and forth and back and forth around and around the dirty barn floor and Roadhog is just lying there, still and unmoving and _dead_. No, not dead, apparently. Junkrat bites his fingers, laughs, tastes dirt and sweat and blood and he feels like he’s going to explode, wants to tell Roadhog to stop looking at him with those fucking soulless eyes.

“I HAD A PLAN!” is what comes out instead, voice scratchy and too high pitched. “I was gonna get us out but you just had to fuck it up, didn’t ya!?” It’s too much, too many thoughts trying to get themselves out at once. He crouches down on the middle of floor and buries his face in his palms, lets out a garbled scream into his hands, pulse loud in his ears as his body shakes and curls in on itself. Fucking Roadhog and his fucking heroics and his fucking lungs and his fucking- why the _fuck_ did he have to fuck up the omnium and doom everyone and destroy their country and kill his f- Why did it have to be Roadhog? Junkrat presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids, forces himself to suck in a breath even though it hurts. He never thinks back on _Before_. It’s too painful to imagine what he could have had, too hopeless to fight something that can’t be fought against, can’t be undone. Suits and omnics are easy to hate but the liberation front has always been something more vague and fictional to him, easier to push down and forget because they were gone, wiped out by the explosion. But they aren’t gone, are they? Roadhog was there and now he’s right here and probably pitying him as the world is falling down around him, that cunt.

“It’s my job to protect you.”

Junkrat snaps his head up, watches as Roadhog sits up up slowly with a muted grunt. He sneers.

“Well ain’t ya just a stand up bloke, saving me from the big bad doctors making me take a nap. Ya probably didn't believe I could get us out anyway, did ya!?”

There’s a pregnant pause as Roadhog leans tiredly back against the wall and lets out a weary sigh.

“How was I supposed to know what was happening? I just saw you being carried off,” Junkrat groans into his knees, Roadhog closes his eyes behind his mask. “You get yourself into stupid shit all the time, had to assume the worst.”

Junkrat snickers, uneven and too broken to be anything but involuntary.

“Yer right, Hoggie, YER RIGHT!” He’s pacing again now, not looking at Roadhog. “I'm bloody losing it, ain't I!? Only a question of time before the last of the screws come loose.”

“Rat…”

“Don't “Rat” me!” Where are his explosives, his safety. He digs his fingers into his arms. He needs _something_ , anything. Noise or touch or constraint or a nice hard punch to the face, something to distract him from this overwhelming feeling of… of _too much_. He spins on his peg leg and points at Roadhog. “YOU WERE DEAD!! You were dead and I had to fucking carry your fat ass to safety and get the Hog running again and blow my way out of the city to get us here so you don’t fucking get to be all ‘uuhhhh Jamison I think ya need to maybe calm down my oldass brain can’t handle you right now’ just go away you piece of shit.” He sits down in a back corner, protecting himself from from ambush from two sides at least. His pulse is loud, too loud in his ears, pressure behind his eyes.

“Have ya ever been in isolation, Hog? No? It's bloody terrific mate let me tell ya that. Half a day and ya start seeing all sortsa things, hear ‘em trying to break down the door, feel like…” He chews on his fingers, breathes hard and too fast. “Maybe that's just me, old Rat ain't right in the head whole town knows that. Guess that's what happens when ya grow up in a radiation zone.” He laughs. “Stop screaming at nothing Jamison yer waking the neighbors, get out yer too old to still be sleeping in yer mum’s bed, get away from me Junkrat you FUCKING PEST! DON'T TOUCH ME!!”

Roadhog retracts his hand from where it was reaching for Junkrat's leg, shuffling back half a step while maintaining his crouch. Junkrat licks his teeth, cornered.

“We came here by car,” Roadhog mutters. Junkrat narrows his eyes, pupils flicking back and forth, searching for the lie.

“You… resuscitated me, hotwired a car. There wasn’t any police left.”

“Wha-”

“You said you got the Hog running. We left her behind.”

“Oh-” Junkrat laughs but no sound comes out. The room feels far away. “O-Oh my God, Hog, why’re ya such a cunt? Why’re ya-” he cuts himself off and breathes harshly into his hands, shoulders shaking with a silent giggle.

“Calm down.”

Junkrat curls in further on himself, a coil wound up tight before lashing out, prosthetic hand striking Roadhog's upper arm.

“Ya killed my country! Ya bastard! Fucking kiwi!! Don't tell me to calm down when it's all yer bloody fault!!”

Roadhog huffs wearily.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Ya should’ve told me sooner, not when yer fucking dying!!” Junkrat snarls up at Roadhog’s mask, fingers digging into his shirt as he pulls himself closer. “Were ya just gonna leave me with that, Hog? Spill the beans and kick the bucket, ‘s that why ya pushed the can away? Looking for an easy out?”

The barn is silent aside from Roadhog’s laboured breathing and Junkrat’s shaky panting. Roadhog’s hands curl into fists against the fabric of his pants, the air growing heavier with each passing second.

"Hogdrogen won't fix a collapsed lung, genius."

Junkrat is quiet, then he laughs.

“Ooh I'm sorry Doctor Rutfuck, I'm just an idiot outback kid who don't know shit.” He settles his foot and peg against Roadhog's knees and his back against the wall and tries to push him away with his legs. Roadhog doesn't move. Junkrat kicks the side of his gut.

“Piss off, mate.” Roadhog doesn't respond and Junkrat kicks him again with his left leg, letting out a frustrated stream of noises.

“Leave me alone!” Another shove. “Say something ya piece of shit! If ya ain't gonna fuck off, at least explain-” Roadhog's hand shoots out and catches Junkrat's leg before he can kick him again, pushing it up and back until the knee is pressed against the wall next to his head. Junkrat breathes hard through his nose, teeth ground together and brows low over his eyes as Roadhog stares him down.

Junkrat snarls.

“Fuck off.”

Seconds pass.

Roadhog slowly lets go of his leg but doesn't move otherwise, glass lenses focused on a point next to Junkrat's shoulder. Junkrat gets to his feet.

The barn door groans as it is opened, letting the sunlight in to cascade over Roadhog’s back. He sits staring at his shadow cast onto the wall until he loses track of time, until the warmth upon his back becomes too uncomfortable. He stands and shuffles over to a patch shaded by a tractor and lowers himself to the floor again. Facing the door this time, he'll be able to see when Junkrat comes back. He probably hasn't gone too far.

The pain in his chest gives him something to focus on, staggering breath stealing attention away from the flicker of memories threatening to resurface. The explosion, the lonely years, the fear on Junkrat's face as he presses down on his chest again and again and again. Roadhog runs a hand over his mask, slouches forward as far as his body allows. His entire being feels like it's buzzing, empty. He stares at the dirty floor, locking onto straws of hay and specks of dirt without really registering what they are.

He makes himself look to the outside again. It’s too bright. He closes his eyes and presses his temple to the still cool metal of the tractor. He should follow him. He should really, really go after him but his body isn’t moving. He laughs, low and wheezy, presses his hands to his face and briefly wonders if this is how Junkrat feels all the time, unable to stop the tremor in his limbs, feeling trapped. He lowers himself to lay down again, inhales deeply through his nose. It's better like this. He doesn't deserve him, his friendship, his trust, his love. He doesn't deserve anything but the pain that consumes him, stabs his chest and takes his breath away. He should go back and face what he has created, let it take from him what he has taken from others and yet he remains static on a cold concrete floor in a barn in a small town in Mexico. Hiding.

-

Someone is taking off his mask. There's a scream as he jolts upright, pushes them off and gets to his feet. It's not Junkrat. Roadhog sways in place, groggy. There's a kid on the floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. He catches his own eyes in the window of the tractor, Mako's eyes. Time stops. It burns, acrid air and peeling flesh. Aching bones deformed with excess growth. He can't breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Pain.

Something hit him. He’s bleeding.

Someone is yelling.

He turns his head slowly towards the noise. There’s a man with a shovel. The kid screams again as Roadhog staggers towards them. He’s hit again but doesn’t react, just bends down and picks his mask off of the floor. His hands shake as he walks back to the tractor, fingers struggling to close the buckles right. He presses his masked face to his palms and draws in a deep, shaking breath, the stuffy darkness a familiar comfort.

Minutes pass. He lifts his head, looks at himself in the tractor door window and meets scratch-dulled lenses instead of war-haunted eyes and his breath comes a little easier. Glass and leather and metal, dead things devoid of emotions, strong and threatening and _empty_.

 

Roadhog.

Roadhog makes things so easy, doesn’t care, doesn’t regret. He leaves the barn, ignoring the people gathering around him, curious, hostile, probably recognizing his prison uniform and calling authorities. Junkrat isn’t around so he walks, walks until he can barely see anything but fields, the farm he was at merely a dot in the distance. He sits down, surrounded by corn stalks, clear blue sky above him.

Roadhog rests, Mako sleeps.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I've had this chapter in the plans for so long I've been really nervous about finally writing it out haha but now it's here and we're almost done. Reactions and comments are always very appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to [Scrunchles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/pseuds/Scrunchles) for betaing this chapter!!

He wanders in a haze through fields of corn and wheat and sugar canes, brain on autopilot because it hurts too much when it isn't. He’s unable to go back, but reluctant to leave the area. The day turns to night which turns to day again. He keeps his ears open and his head low, sees the police arrive at and leave the farm in the distance. He assures himself that he would have been able to hear Junkrat if he was caught.

Roadhog spends a lot of time on the ground. He's tired, so, so tired, so out of breath. For the first time in months he misses his bed back in Junkertown; even though it sags and creaks, his tank of hogdrogen to ease the pain and keep his lungs full. He runs the pads of his fingers over the fresh scarring on one side of his ribs, feeling shiny, smooth skin, still uneven where the healing gas couldn’t patch him up sufficiently. 

Junkrat hates him. He closes his eyes and breathes deep until his chest hurts and his head feels light. Where does he go from here? He doesn't really have anywhere specific he wants to see, always just following Junkrat's plans. He likes that, not making the decisions, having fun. 

He lets himself wallow in a hopelessness he hasn't allowed in a long time, hiding away from the world in a sea of crops. It’s quiet enough that he can almost disconnect from everything that has happened, or at least push it to the back of his mind for the time being, stare at the sky and absentmindedly pick at his nail polish the same way Junkrat has so often.

-

Darkness surrounds him the next time he opens his eyes, heart racing and bones aching. The roar of his motorcycle hits his ears but he's not on it, distant but familiar. He gets up so he can look over the top of the crops but it's too dark to see anything. With no headlight to guide the way, he follows his gut and his ears toward the sound. It might just be his imagination— radiation catching up with him— but he has to check, has to reach for his only remaining chance to forgive himself. The rumble of the engine stops and all he hears is his own heavy breathing in the darkness. Flickers of past terrors and worst case scenarios emerge from the corners of his mind. His legs have stopped without his permission, rooting him in place. This cowardice doesn't belong to him— not to Roadhog, not to Mako, at least not as he knows them—but to someone who loves, someone afraid to lose. 

Light blinks to life closer than he expected it to. It must be a motion sensor because he sees his motorcycle come to a slow stop and the figure walking it drop to the ground, still a few meters from the barn. He runs over to the scene with his heart in his throat, wanting to yell out but his words are stuck. Junkrat lies collapsed on the ground, covered in bruises and electrical burns, prosthetic arm detached from his stump but shackled to his left wrist with metal cuffs. The Hog looks like it's just about come apart too but is still somehow sticking together, old like its owner and as stubborn as its savior. 

Junkrat went back for it. 

Junkrat went back to the city, hurt and upset and confused. He put himself in danger again to get Roadhog's motorcycle for the sole reason that he knows it means a lot to him. It's a relatively small action in the scope of all the things they've done, what Mako has sacrificed and lost, but the culmination of over twenty years of loneliness and self-isolation, of being an outcast, of guilt and regret overwhelms him and he barely chokes back a sob as warm tears well up in his eyes until they run down his face in burning streaks. No one has cared like this before. Not about Mako, only for Roadhog's strength and ruthlessness, always out of either greed or fear. 

Junkrat cares, despite knowing what Mako has done. 

His breath hitches as he reaches back and pulls at the straps holding his mask to his face, his biggest comfort turned into a suffocating prison as he struggles with the buckles, fingers too big and heart going too fast. He sobs as he finally throws the mask on the ground, a pained, broken sound that feels like a betrayal of everything he has tried to be for so long now. He can't stop crying, can't look at Junkrat so he looks to the bike instead but it only brings up memories of long, chilly nights of driving through the outback, of speeding through the streets of London with stolen jewels worth more than their lives, of crashing and empty lungs and dying. Junkrat stirs and Mako wipes his face on his arm before sitting down by his side. He pulls off what remains of his prison shirt and tries to carefully clean his wounds, but everything is too dirty and dry and Junkrat winces as some scabbing rips open. Mako keeps his hand still on Junkrat's stomach, sunken from going days without any kind of sustenance. His throat closes up and fresh tears fall, cutting tracks down his partner’s dirty skin. Their last meal in the prison suddenly feels very long ago. 

“‘ad to pop me arm off to drive…”

His words are slurred and barely discernible, breath too slow as if he has to concentrate hard on it. Mako sobs and Junkrat turns his head in his direction, eyes opening a sliver. He feels useless, just sitting there crying when he should be making sure his partner is alright, should comfort him and make him feel safe and cared for, pick him up and drive far, far away, but instead he remains on the ground. He reaches out to unbuckle Junkrat’s leg, feeling selfish because it’s mostly for his own sake, to feel like he’s helping, although as the prosthesis comes away and he can see how bruised his stump is, he feels a small relief that he can at least do this for him. Junkrat moans in pain and his unfocused eyes finally settle on Mako, roaming his naked face, tear-stained and red and unfamiliar, silent as if he still isn't quite sure what he's seeing. 

Time drags on and Mako can't help but bring up a hand to cover his face, to hide the only way he knows. Junkrat's stump arm touches his thigh, seeking purchase as he moves closer and up into a sitting position on top of Mako's legs. 

“Hey, mate... just got a bit roughed up, ‘m still all here.” He gives a little laugh and wraps his arms around Mako’s neck, making him shake his head and try to pull away, feeling guilt at the idea of accepting comfort he himself feels unable to give. Junkrat holds fast though, presses Mako’s head to his shoulder and rubs his broad back through heaving sobs the best he can with his one hand. 

“Easy…” he mutters against a stubbled cheek as Mako's breathing grows more choppy, “don't wanna have to patch ya up again.”

Mako draws in a rattling breath, trying to steady himself even as the tears won't stop flowing. Junkrat closes his eyes and nuzzles into the side of Mako's soft neck. 

“What's got you so upset, mate?” He's got a pretty good idea already, but his time with Roadhog has taught him to be careful about making assumptions, to be better at thinking before he speaks... although he still has a long way to go in that department. This isn't their first fight. 

He gets no response and tries not to be frustrated by it. The two of them are quiet and still enough for once to allow the the wind rustling the fields to be heard and the motion sensor forgets their presence and turns off the lights. Junkrat sighs, exhausted and ready to let himself slip back under, to smother down the volatile emotions still lurking under the surface when he finally feels thick arms return his embrace, holding him close against his bodyguard’s shaking bulk.

“We were naïve… blind idiots who thought we could save the world… we… we weren’t-” Mako sniffs and clears his throat, lowers his head so he can rest his forehead against Junkrat's shoulder, “we miscalculated... the bomb was too strong, went off at the wrong time-”

“Happens to the best of us,” Junkrat mumbles sleepily into Mako's hair and Mako laughs wetly. 

“Wasn't supposed to happen, not like that…”

Mako lifts his head and wipes snot from his face with the back of his hand, then sniffs hard as he shuffles backwards so he can lean against the back wall of the barn. The light flickers to life and he squints against the sudden brightness, once again confronted with the full reality of the situation.

“You shouldn’t have come back…” He runs a careful hand over Junkrat’s bruised spine. He doesn’t deserve a friend like him.

“I’ll be the boss of that meself, thanks.”

Mako tilts his head back and looks up into the clear night sky. There are a lot of things he wants to express, feels like he should say, but it all feels so inadequate and much too late. 

“I'm sorry,” he says, because he feels like it needs to be said. 

“Sorries won't change anything back, mate,” Junkrat replies, because it's the truth. 

Mako nods. They have both lost so much, but there's nothing to gain by dwelling on it. Yet, as he tightens his arms around Junkrat with a defeated sigh, the heavy feeling he has carried around for what feels like his whole life still clings stubbornly and pulls on his insides, refusing to leave. He blinks tears from his eyes and draws in a shaking breath, weeps quietly for Junkrat and Jamison and Mako, for all they have lost and the pain they have to endure, and for Roadhog, who will never find peace.

“Fucking tin cans…” he mumbles after some time and Junkrat laughs but the sound is off, an anxious, instinctual response rather than his usual mirthful glee. Mako carefully peels him off so he can look at him, watches his mouth morph into a grin to try and mask how he feels. He sniffs and giggles and looks away and Mako's chest tightens with guilt as he opens his mouth and closes it with no words coming out. Junkrat pats Mako's gut and moves to get up, but a big hand wraps around his side before he can shuffle far enough away to get his leg under himself, making him flop back against Mako's bulk. 

“I know ya just wanted yer land back,” he says after a deep breath against Mako's chest, “probably woulda done the same… better than being controlled by a buncha robots.” He moves the end of his stump arm over the new scarring by Mako's ribs and presses his ear to his sternum.

“Would've all gone to the dogs either way,” Junkrat's breath hitches and Mako rubs his back slowly in an attempt to ease his pain, “woulda-” he giggles, “woulda still ended up like this so…”

“Rat…” Mako murmurs, wishing he could allow himself to use a different name. 

“‘m fine, mate.”

Thick lips press against his temple. 

“You don't have to lie, not to me.”

Junkrat buries his face deeper in Mako's cleavage with a strained huff, arms coming up to cover his head. Mako can feel his breathing pick up and he wishes he was capable of doing more than just stroking his skin, that his words could provide the key to his mental prison, give him the freedom he always seeks. Uneven teeth sink into the meat of his chest as a whine escapes the younger man, muscles trembling with tension, and Mako feels fresh tears gather and run down his own face. Nothing he can say can undo all the pain he has caused.

“It’s okay to hate me,” is all can think of as he closes his eyes and wills himself to remain calm. The statement only causes Junkrat to bite harder and Mako grunts in pain, moving his hands up to stroke patchy hair and tense shoulders, but Junkrat squirms and pushes himself away with a frustrated groan. 

“It’s not about you, ya fucking drongo!”

Rapid breathing, frantic eyes. Mako carefully lowers his hands to his partner’s thighs, just resting them there as Junkrat clenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. 

“It's not-”

His head feels too small for his thoughts.

“I’m…”

Nimble fingers find Mako's massive palm and trace the deep lines across it. He hurts. It hurts. The emptiness, the frustration he always tries so desperately to chase away with noise and talk and mayhem, rearing its ugly head and staring him right in the face. He feels childish for missing his mum, for wanting to cry because he can't remember his dad, for wanting to blame the death of his siblings on the only person available to blame. He wants to scream about living in the street and going hungry and the constant sickness and being alone, but he can’t, because Roadhog has lived it all too, because he doesn’t want him to hurt any more than he already does. 

He has nowhere to direct his anger and the realization hits him like a punch to the chest.

Junkrat goes still, digging his nails into his thigh and his teeth into his lip. Before Roadhog entered his life, before he became aware of how the rest of the world thrived, he had nothing to be this angry about, because he grew up thinking that that was just how things were. His heart is pounding but his body feels asleep, like when you doze off on the sofa in a weird angle and wake up after three and a half hours unable to tell up from down. Above him, Mako is trying to suppress his wheezing, make himself silent for Junkrat’s breakdown. Junkrat laughs quietly because he always does that, as if feeling like he was alone would make anything better.

The lack of words does nothing for him, but the building heat between the skin of his thighs and Mako’s palms and the slow thrum of the big man’s pulse gives him something steady to focus on. He eases up his grip on his leg and flexes his fingers slowly.

“Do ya just follow me around because ya feel guilty?”

Mako sucks in a shaking breath and gently runs his thumbs over the little red crescents on Junkrat's leg. 

“Maybe I did at first, think it was more that I wanted the world to pay for what it did to us and you were the only one… you…”

Junkrat laughs lowly. 

“I've told ya, Hog, they're all settling. They've given up, buncha no-good wankers.”

Mako wipes his nose with the back of his hand. 

“Think I had too…”

Junkrat lets himself slump forward against Mako’s chest again and pets his side as he sniffs hard, trying to stop the flow of fluids running down his face.

“I’ve been trying to forget it all…” And he almost had, spent years and years numbing and distancing himself, becoming Roadhog, something and someone else, someone who lived without regrets. But he failed, couldn’t erase the guilt, couldn’t forget who he was. The pain is his punishment for his mistakes.

“I was ready to just-” 

Junkrat shifts and Mako swallows back the words, unable to voice the relief he had felt feeling himself slip away, deprived of oxygen and sticky with blood. He can’t do that to him.

“You’re the only thing that matters anymore…” he says instead.

Wet eyes shift to look up at Mako.

“I’m sorry.”

Junkrat shakes his head and sits back a little so he can take some space for himself, chews his lip and takes a steadying breath. His hand finds Mako’s again and runs his thumbnail over the ridges on his knuckles, back and forth a few times before he leans down and gently kisses the worn skin.

“I love you,” Junkrat almost-whispers, a slight unsteadiness to his movements as he gets up on his knee and stump to be on face-level with his partner. He wipes fresh tears from Mako’s cheek with his thumb and tries to smile as his own eyes spill over. They kiss, chaste and with trembling lips for the first time since that night months ago in a hotel back in Nowhere, Australia. 

“I love you,” he repeats, louder and falling apart in the middle. He sobs against Mako’s lips and shaking hands move to his back and pull him close. He cries, loud and ugly and smearing his wet face against Mako’s rough cheek and fat neck. They cling to each other as Junkrat gasps for breath and wails, Mako’s show of vulnerability bringing forth emotions he had subconsciously buried to survive. To lay down and cry won’t get you far in the Outback, it will only make you an easy target.

“I th-thought I’d lo-lost you,” he hiccups and Mako makes a soft sound of comfort against his damaged scalp, cups his head in his massive palms when a slim hand comes up to clutch and pull at his hair. 

“I’m here.” He presses a kiss to Junkrat’s forehead. “You brought me back.”

Junkrat sobs. “Scared me.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Mako nuzzles his hair and closes his eyes against the fear and hurt and anxiety bouncing between them. The whole situation feels surreal, like he’s finally broken down and his brain is just feeding him his hopes and fears on repeat, like he’s dreaming and is going to wake up back in prison any second now. When he first met Junkrat, he never would have imagined him crying over something as complex yet simple as love, always taking on the world with a mad grin and a laugh, too busy scheming and fantasizing about mayhem and vengeance to devote himself to someone else in a way that the average person might find to be the epitome of happiness.

The assurance that he is loved is overwhelming and only makes the guilt that much more suffocating.

“I d-don’t want to be alone again,” Junkrat cries against Mako’s collarbone. “I can’t do it again, Hog. They’ll shoot me on sight, I’ll starve, ain’t cute enough to beg anymore-” he cuts himself off with a laugh and Mako tightens his hold on him and rocks back and forth gently.

“You’d make it. I know you, you’d make it through anything,” Mako rumbles comfortingly, burying his face against Junkrat’s neck. “I’m… I’m sorry, I've ruined your life…you could’ve had a family, you could’ve gone to school, you-”

“Hog…”

"I'm sorry... I'm so so sorry, I-" 

“Please stop that.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“‘s not.”

Mako inhales shakily. “It is to me”

"I know." Junkrat's fingers dig into the skin of his back uncomfortably, as if he's afraid of falling into the abyss if he lets go. He presses his face harder into Mako’s shoulder, his entire body trembling. "Don't ya think I know that? Ya always look at me like it hurts..."

Mako sobs and shifts to get away on instinct but it only makes Junkrat climb higher and cling tighter.

“They’re all dead, Hog. It’s in the past, it’s fine, just forget it.”

Big hands wrap around his ribcage and pull him off. Junkrat half-sneers as he rubs tears from his eyes. 

“What?” Junkrat says. “They’re gone. Ain’t no getting them back so wouldn’t it be better to just…”

Mako pulls back a little. “Just what?”

Junkrat shrugs and wipes his nose on his arm. “Make the best of it, fuck shit up. Thought we had a plan.”

“We do. Haven’t said we don’t,” Mako grunts. 

Junkrat grins. “That’s the Roadhog I know.”

It’s a small remark. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it. But it makes it so _easy_. So easy to let himself slip back under, accept the easy out and let Roadhog take over. That’s who Junkrat wants after all, isn’t it? Someone who will help him to have fun without dragging him down with their emotional baggage. Someone with Roadhog’s ruthlessness but with more affection than Mako is able to give. 

Roadhog leans his head back against the barn with a sigh. It’s too late to change anything.

Junkrat pets the swell of his gut. “I know, mate. I’m tired too.”

Roadhog hums and Junkrat gives a small giggle as he wipes tears and snot from his own face, shifting to get more comfortable on his bodyguard’s lap. Roadhog can feel that he’s being watched and he brings up his hands to gently rub Junkrat’s thighs with another low sigh before opening his eyes and looking down at his employer. Yellow. Like Junkrat’s, like bombs and science and gold. But where Junkrat’s eyes are ancient amber, molten lava, Roadhog’s are the color of honey, of yellowed parchment and healing gas. Junkrat bites his lip and touches Roadhog’s cheek, runs his fingers over bumps and scars and furrows and kisses his forehead when he looks down and away. The very contours of his face have been reshaped by radiation and the skin is thick and swollen. A heavy brow sits above his eyes and coarse hairs litter his cheeks and jaw, silver like his hair. Junkrat kisses him, a little hesitant but it coaxes a low sound of relief from Roadhog nonetheless. His pulse is pounding in his ears, breath heavy. A hand carefully pulls the band from his hair and thin lips draw up into a smile. 

“Eyes up here, mate,”

Roadhog chuckles ruefully and dares a glance at his partner who just gives him a toothy grin in return. He was expecting the whole ordeal to be more dramatic, not that he was actually planning on ever showing Junkrat his face, but instead of shock or big proclamations of attraction he only gets quiet reassurance. Junkrat has nothing to say and that's fine, Roadhog knows. It's ugly and unlovable and there's nothing to do about that. Yet nimble fingers still caress his face and dry lips touch his throat and it's more than he has ever dared hope for. 

It isn't long before Junkrat's hand lowers and his breath deepens, body exhausted and desperately trying to recuperate. Roadhog kisses his shoulder with a sigh and gets to his feet with a bit of trouble, the smaller form held delicately against his body. He places him in the sidecar and drapes his own huge prison shirt over the much leaner figure. They'll make it. The Hog won't start and they're in the middle of nowhere with no food or water, but they'll make it. They have to. For Jamison. For the future of the outback.

He picks up his mask from the ground and wipes dirt off a lens with his thumb. Junkrat needs Roadhog. Mako does too. Letting go of himself for good would be easiest on everyone. 

“Where do ya want to go next?” 

Junkrat is awake. Roadhog rubs a hand over his face to clean it the best he can and gives a thoughtful hum as he puts on his mask and closes the buckles behind his head. 

“Somewhere fun, could use a holiday,” Junkrat continues. Roadhog chuckles inwardly - as if Junkrat would ever go anywhere if he didn't think that it would be fun. He tries to get the Hog started, but she doesn't even splutter, so he takes hold of the handlebars and begins walking her instead. 

“Japan.”

Junkrat lowers his brows in thought and rummages around the bottom of the sidecar for his world map, but most of their things have been removed by the police or lost in the crash so he comes up empty-handed. 

“East Asia,” Roadhog grunts, “lots of color, noisy.” Just like Junkrat. 

“Ya hate noisy places.”

Roadhog shrugs. 

“Pachis.”

Junkrat laughs. “Japan it is then.”

Roadhog grunts in agreement. “You need to sleep.”

Junkrat rubs his face and winces slightly as he tries to move into a more comfortable position. “Too right.”

Silence falls between them as they move through the fields, but it isn’t the same oppressive silence he felt in the barn or as he wandered about. Junkrat’s soft snores fills the air, occasionally broken by him waking and shifting about every time the wheel of the sidecar hits a bump or rock. Roadhog slows down a little to steady his breath.

“Thanks.”

“What for?” Junkrat grunts, opening one eye.

_Finding my bike, reviving me, getting us out of prison, being my friend._

_Giving my life meaning._

“Coming back.” Roadhog keeps his eyes straight ahead, makes it easier to pretend that Mako didn’t just bawl his eyes out, to forget that Junkrat is injured and in dire need of medical assistance. 

Junkrat closes his eye and gives him a tired smile, makes a vague gesture with his stump arm, too close to drifting off again already to remember that he isn’t wearing his prosthesis.

“Wouldn’t know what I’d do without ya, ya big lug.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around for so long! This series has been quite a journey so far and all your support has meant a lot to me.
> 
> See you all in Winter!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://nerororoadrat.tumblr.com/) [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NeroroRR)

**Author's Note:**

> https://twitter.com/NeroroRR


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